


The Truth Is All There Is

by AngelOfTheMoor



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Angst, Claire Is a Baby, Falling In Love, False Identity, M/M, Nobility, Promiscuous Dean, Virgin Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-15
Updated: 2014-05-15
Packaged: 2018-01-24 21:07:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1617107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelOfTheMoor/pseuds/AngelOfTheMoor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prince Castiel Milton has absolutely no intention of letting his betrothal to Prince Dean Winchester go ahead. While on his way to the palace to disengage himself from the playboy prince, he doesn’t expect to find an abandoned baby nearby. To protect the innocent child, Castiel ends up going undercover as the baby’s father.</p><p>Before long the dashing Prince Dean is won over – not only by the baby, but by the father as well. As Castiel and Dean grow closer, Castiel knows he will have to reveal his secret. But will their burgeoning romance survive the shocking truth?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Truth Is All There Is

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: _Supernatural_ doesn't belong to me.
> 
> Warning: There are two parts that contain brief violence toward Claire, the baby.
> 
> The title comes from the song ["The Truth" by Handsome Boy Modeling School](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fE97XSWGI6Y). (It refers to two lines in particular: "You can't hide from the truth because the truth is all there is." + "The truth hurts because the truth is all there is.")
> 
> This is set in a completely fictional medieval/fantasy type of AU, so the characters still talk as they would in modern times.
> 
> Thanks to [revengingcas](http://revengingcas.tumblr.com/) on tumblr for beta-ing this for me.
> 
> This was written for the [Unconventional Courtship Fest](http://unconventionalcourtship.dreamwidth.org/) on Dreamwidth, a panfandom challenge which involves picking a Mills and Boon or Harlequin plot summary and basing a fic on it. Go check out the other fics and see what else has been done! They're not as long as mine, lol.
> 
> Anyway, my fic is based on this prompt, #12:
> 
> "BETROTHED TO THE PRINCE  
> by RAYE MORGAN
> 
> Mills & Boon Tender Romance
> 
> From playboy prince to loving husband…?
> 
> Princess Tianna has absolutely no intention of allowing her lifelong betrothal to Prince Garth Roseanova to go ahead. When she arrives at the palace to disengage herself from the playboy Prince, she doesn’t expect to find an abandoned baby in the grounds. To protect the innocent child Tianna ends up going undercover as the baby’s nanny!
> 
> Before long dashing Prince Garth is won over – not only by the tiny baby, but by the mysterious beautiful new nanny as well. As Tianna and Garth get closer, she knows she will have to reveal her secret. But will their whirlwind romance survive the shocking truth?
> 
> Catching the Crown
> 
> Secrets and passion abound as the royals reclaim their throne!"

Castiel of House Milton awakes with a grunt, rubbing his back, sore from sleeping on the ground. He should arrive at the Winchester stronghold today, so he had best scrub up a bit before he continues on his journey. 

As he’s done every morning, Castiel surveys the area, ensuring no one has followed him. He had snuck out of his family’s palace two weeks ago to pursue his mission. His parents have betrothed him to Dean of House Winchester, and Castiel refuses to have any part in such an arrangement, for he has _every_ reason to deplore the union.

Two men cannot produce progeny, of course, but that is not his problem. Oh, no. His problem is the man himself, Dean Winchester. Dean is the eldest of two sons, which should have made him the heir to the Winchester crown. But he has been stripped of his inheritance, a result of his soiled reputation, and instead Sam will become the next king.

Which is why the sex of Dean’s spouse would never matter. Only kingdom heirs are required to marry people of the opposite sex, for they must generate offspring and continue the family bloodline. Sam himself will marry Jessica of House Moore once both parties come of age.

Castiel bemoans his bad luck. Why did he, of all people, have to end up betrothed to Dean Winchester? The alliance would be a good one, but the man himself . . . marriage to Dean would make for an unpleasant life.

Therefore, he has resolved to break off the engagement himself. But he needs to be tactful. If he and Dean can come to an amicable agreement, perhaps the alliance between their houses can be forged without a marriage.

Dean is rumored to be the world’s most prolific sexpot, to have been involved in more brawls than anyone can count . . . he is the very model of disgraceful behavior, and Castiel does not wish to spend the rest of his life tied to someone like that.

Castiel does not hold any illusions about himself; he knows he is no great prospect, notorious as he is for his social ineptitude. But that does not mean he deserves to be forever tethered to someone like Dean Winchester.

Castiel rummages around in his pack until he finds a bar of soap and hikes a few minutes toward a stream he’d spotted nearby. He splashes water on his face and roughly scrubs it with the soap. He grips his doublet, and just as he begins tugging it off, he hears a whine.

Barely perceptible, but still. The sound had been unmistakable. Or had it been a hallucination?

No. There it is again. The garment slips from his fingers. He listens, and gradually the whine evolves into desperate cries, like those of an infant.

But no one else is here. He had been sure of it. Still, the wailing grows louder. Clearly, he is not alone. He follows the sound until he finds the source.

A baby lying on the banks of the stream. What he first notices are her pretty wide blue eyes.

“Who are you?” Castiel croons softly as he kneels down beside her. She blinks up at him, her cries abruptly ceasing. “You poor thing. Here.” He picks her up, and she burrows into in his arms, cooing. She nuzzles her head against his neck, and a surge of affection flows through his veins. “Where are your mommy and daddy, huh?” He smooths down tufts of blonde hair, and she giggles. He smiles down at her. “We will just have to find them, hmm?” She smushes her lips together and blows as if in agreement. “Yes. We should go.” The infant’s parents should be found right away, even if it means skipping his morning bath. He will take her to the Winchester abode; perhaps enlisting the assistance of an authority figure will help with locating the girl’s parents.

He extracts a coarse woolen blanket from his bag and fashions a makeshift papoose, which he attaches to his torso. He settles the baby into the pouch and carefully mounts his horse. As he rides, he keeps a protective hand pressed to the baby’s side, afraid of jostling her too hard.

It takes an hour to reach the Winchester palace. As Castiel approaches, he gapes at the sheer massiveness of the castle, which dwarfs the Miltons’ estate. Its white walls glisten in the bright sun, and verdant fields surround the edifice. He swallows as his mare trots across the drawbridge. Sweat drips down his neck, and he swipes at the moisture, cursing the heat.

Once he has crossed the bridge, he realizes he doesn’t know where to go. The stables first, no doubt. Where are those?

He rides in circles until he stumbles upon the stables. The boy standing at the entrance ignores him and spits on the ground. Castiel frowns. Why does the boy refuse to acknowledge him?

He hops off the horse and asks the boy which stall he should use. The boy merely points to an empty stall at the end of the building. Castiel leads his horse to the stall and grooms her. She whinnies, seemingly agitated, and Castiel brushes a hand over her mane. “Shh. It’s all right, Grace,” he soothes. Footsteps indicate someone else has entered the stable, but Castiel pays the new arrival no mind as he waters and feeds Grace. When he’s finished, he kisses her lustrous brown coat before leaving her in the stall. As he strolls toward the door, a man pops out of one of the other stalls, stopping inches in front of him. Castiel gasps, startled by the man’s sudden appearance.

“Hello,” Castiel ventures as he raises his eyes to the man’s face. He is breathtakingly handsome, delicate freckles coating his face, beautiful dirty blonde hair adorning his head like a faded halo. A muscular build, and though his clothing is plain, brown britches and a white shirt, it is finely tailored. Sturdy brown boots complete the ensemble.

And if eyes are indeed windows to the soul, this man possesses an exceedingly beautiful one. Green, with flecks of hazel, an earnestness nestled inside.

“Um. Hi,” the man says, a faint redness tinging his cheeks. His eyes slide toward the infant in Castiel’s arms. He grins down at her. “She yours?”

“Yes,” Castiel answers automatically. What? Why had he said that? It is a blatant lie. He cannot contradict it now without looking foolish.

“What’s her name?”

“Claire,” he says without hesitation. Castiel begins to panic. What has come over him?

The man adopts a falsetto voice and gazes at the infant. “Who’s the most adorable baby in the world?” He tickles her arm, and she giggles. “Yes. Yes, it’s you, Claire Bear.” He straightens up, and his voice resumes its normal timbre. “Sorry,” he murmurs, casting his eyes to the side. “I just . . . she’s a cute thing.”

“Yes.”

“’Course, you’d think so. You’re her father.”

“Perhaps that explains it.” _But I’m not. How could I be such an idiot?_

The man extends his hand. “Dean Winchester.”

Castiel shakes the hand before the name truly hits him. “You’re . . . Dean Winchester?”

“Yeah, I know. Most people’re surprised I don’t rely on the stable boy. But no one knows my Impala like I do.” He gestures toward a black mare. “That’s her.”

“She’s gorgeous,” Castiel observes.

Dean beams. “She sure is.” He turns back to Castiel. “So. You here about the blacksmith job?”

“Yes,” Castiel replies without thinking. Ugh, he just keeps getting stupider and stupider. But there’s no going back now. Castiel Milton does not have an infant daughter, and the lie would be too difficult to explain. He doesn’t even know if he _can_ explain it.

Still, he doesn’t understand why Dean assumes he is a commoner. Well, he reminds himself, he’s not exactly dressed in his finest clothes. He’d been trying to remain nondescript, after all. And he’s filthy, too, sweaty, with dirt patches scattered across his garments.

Fortunately, he’d spent much of his childhood shadowing Gabriel, a blacksmith at the palace. Gabriel had taught him the basics, so he can manage a forge if he must.

“Awesome. Want me to show you where the smithy is?”

“That would be nice. If you do not mind.”

“Not at all.” Castiel follows Dean out of the stable and around the castle grounds. “So. What’s your name?”

He utters the first name that comes to mind. “Jimmy Novak.”

“Glad to meetcha, Jimmy.” They walk in silence for a few minutes until Dean explains, “The boss—Bobby Singer—he can be kinda gruff, but don’t let that fool ya. He’s a big softie underneath.”

“Oh.”

“Here he is!” Outside a small wooden structure stands a man in his mid-fifties, sporting a brown beard that matches his hair. “Heya, Bobby!”

“Dean. Shouldn’t you be at the council meeting?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll be there in a sec. But I think I found someone to help you out ’round here.”

Bobby squints at Castiel. “That guy?” he responds skeptically.

 “Yeah.”

Bobby addresses Castiel. “No offense, son, but you don’t look like you’ve ever seen a forge in your life.”

“I am proficient enough,” Castiel asserts.

“Prove it.”

Castiel passes Claire to Dean, and Bobby assigns him a basic task and watches him work. Dean scrutinizes him as well. Castiel is all too aware of Dean’s stare, and his neck burns. When Castiel is finished, Bobby assesses the result.

“Not bad, boy,” Bobby concludes. “Can you start tomorrow?”

“Yes.” Castiel glances at Dean and Claire. “But my daughter. Her mother is . . . not around. Would it be permissible for me to bring her with me?”

“Does this look like a fuckin’ nursery?” Dean gives Bobby a pointed look, and Bobby sighs. “Fine. I’m sure we can find someone who’ll look after her.”

“I’ll arrange it with one of the household staff,” Dean interjects.

“Thank you,” Castiel says.

Bobby shakes Castiel’s hand. “Welcome aboard,--”

“Jimmy. Jimmy Novak.”

“Jimmy.” Dean returns Claire to Castiel, and Bobby glares at her. “You better not get in the way,” he gripes. Castiel and Dean exchange amused grins. 

xxxxxxxxxx

Bobby gives Castiel directions to the nearby village. During the ride, Claire starts to cry, and Castiel realizes she’s hungry. “I know, I know,” he commiserates. “We will find you sustenance.” A rancid smell indicates she has soiled herself. After he feeds her, he must purchase clothes and diaper rags. But first, he must find somewhere for Grace to stay.

He locates the inn, where he procures lodgings for the night and stables Grace. He lugs most of his belongings to the rented room, but he knows better than to leave his valuables there. He uses a towel as a diaper for Claire and mutters, “Now, Claire, let’s get you something to eat.” His stomach rumbles. _I suppose I should buy something for myself as well._ After they eat, he will see if there is any news about a missing child.

Dean Winchester had been nothing like Castiel had been led to believe. He’d seemed kind, taking immediate interest in Claire. ( _Why am I thinking of her as Claire? That is not her real name._ )

In the dining room, he purchases a glass of milk, a cup of ale, and beef stew. “You’re new ’round here, aren’t ya?” the proprietor inquires after placing Castiel’s order in front of him.

“Yes,” Castiel replies as he spoons milk into Claire’s mouth.

“You lookin’ for work? ’Cause I got a cousin who’s lookin’ for help out on his farm.”

“Oh, no. I am a blacksmith on the Winchester estate.”

The other man snorts. “Might wanna be careful out there.”

Castiel raises an eyebrow. “Oh? Why is that?”

“They say . . . well, that Queen Mary’s ghost haunts the grounds. Tragic, what happened to her. No wonder the oldest one is so messed up.”

“What happened?” Castiel had heard of Mary Winchester’s early demise, but never the cause.

“She went crazy, they say, when she did it. Lit herself on fire in her own son’s bedroom. Dean’s. Tried to take him with her. A guard heard him scream, and they doused the fire. Saved the boy, but she didn’t survive. Her burns were too severe.”

Castiel freezes, unable to respond. Why had no one ever told him about this? He cannot imagine . . . his heart aches for Dean.

“It’s why he gets in all those fights, you know,” the innkeeper continues.

“How is that?”

“Defending his mother’s honor. It’s a joke people make, a taunt, calling someone ‘Mad Mary.’” He shakes his head. “Never approved of it myself. She was a good queen. It’s a shame,” he sighs. “I could hardly believe it when I first heard. King John’s not a bad ruler, but he doesn’t quite have her touch.” He glances around furtively. “You won’t tell anyone I said that, will you? I don’t wanna be accused of treason.”

Castiel frowns. “Is it treason to speak of the king?”

“No, but to suggest there’s something wrong with his reign . . . ”

“But you didn’t.”

“No. But it could be construed that way.”

“I won’t tell anyone. You have my word.”

He offers Castiel his hand. “Rufus Turner.”

“Jimmy Novak.”

“You’re not too bad, Jimmy,” Rufus says as he releases Castiel’s hand. On the far side of the establishment, a couple of patrons clamor for Rufus’s attention. Rufus sighs. “Catch ya later, Jimmy,” he says before making his way toward them.

Castiel consumes his meal and ponders what Rufus has just told him, something he’d never suspected. He doesn’t think the tale of Queen Mary is well-known outside of the immediate vicinity. Why isn’t it?

Rufus had also implied that criticizing the government is against the law, which is news to Castiel. He’d been taught that this land was prosperous and liberal, much like his own. But the Miltons have never attempted to censor their subjects. After all, without criticism, how are they to know what they should improve?

Once he and Claire have sated their appetites, Castiel trots outside, smiling at the sight of the sun. He discovers the market and roams around until he finds somewhere to buy supplies for Claire: diapers, clothes, shoes, and anything else that looks useful. The shopkeeper fawns over Claire for a few minutes, and just as Castiel is finally able to wrest the baby from her, he almost runs smack into a woman who enters the tent. A badge indicates her status as the sheriff.

Sheriff . . . Maybe she would know if anyone is missing their child.

“Good afternoon, Sheriff,” Castiel says.

“Good afternoon, sir.”

“Have you had any reports of a missing person, by any chance?”

“Why, you lookin’ for someone?”

“Perhaps.”

“Can’t say I have. If I hear anythin’, I’ll be sure to let you know, Mr.—”

“Jimmy Novak.”

“Right. Mr. Novak. I’m Jody Mills. Where can I reach you?”

“I’m staying at the inn.”

“Okay. If there’s any news, I’ll get word to Rufus.”

“Thank you.”

xxxxxxxxxxx 

Something slams against the wall, ripping Castiel out of his slumber. He opens his eyes and realizes it’s still quite dark. The noise had come from the other side of the wall; it sounded like . . .

Sex.

The activity becomes louder, something (a bed, he hypothesizes) repeatedly banging against the wall. A woman’s loud moans of ecstasy, the tell-tale creak of the bed. He swears he can hear the faint echo of bodies slapping.

He glances at Claire, who is thankfully still asleep beside him. He will need to find somewhere else to stay after tonight. Not just because the noise prevents him from sleeping, but because Claire should not hear such indecent sounds.

A guttural grunt, followed by a shout. “Fuck!”

Castiel is wide awake now. That voice . . . he thinks he recognizes it. Dean Winchester.

“Fuck, yeah, that’s it, baby,” Dean groans. Castiel’s hands grip the sheets.

“C’mon, baby, that’s it, oooh, fuck . . . ” Dean screams, and soon the woman joins him. The sheets twist in Castiel’s grasp, and he clutches them so tightly his hands grow numb.

The woman laughs. “Mmm.” That’s Dean. Footsteps patter across the floor.

“Why don’t you stay the night?” the woman suggests.

“You know I never do,” Dean replies, voice suddenly steely.

The woman giggles again. “It was worth a try.”

A few minutes later, boots tramp down the stairs. Something clenches in Castiel’s chest, and he doesn’t know why.

xxxxxxxxxx

Castiel rises early so he can find another home for himself and Claire before going to work. He gathers his belongings, and after breakfast, tells Rufus good-bye.

“Sorry to see you go,” Rufus says. “You were my one shot at intelligent conversation in this joint.” He and Castiel survey the disheveled patrons in the dining room. “I understand, though. It can get kinda rowdy ’round here.”

“Perhaps we will run into each other from time to time,” Castiel replies.

“Yeah. Take care, Jimmy.”

“You, too, Rufus.”

Castiel remembers an abandoned cabin he noticed in the forest yesterday, not far from the Winchester grounds. He settles Claire in the papoose and feeds her from a bottle he’d purchased at the market yesterday. After saddling up Grace, he aims for his destination. He might have to acquire a few meager furnishings for the place, but maybe it will do. First, he needs to ensure it is structurally sound.

He finds the wooden cabin without much difficulty, dismounts, and enters the building. To his surprise, the house already contains a few pieces of old furniture. A small bed, just big enough for himself and Claire. He’ll have to be careful with Claire to make sure she doesn’t fall out of bed at night. A couple of dusty stuffed chairs surround a tiny circular table. After clearing the dust from one of the chairs, he lays Claire down in it so he can push the bed against the wall. Claire will be safest if she can sleep between himself and the wall.

“This will do,” he mutters to himself.

Of course, it will not last. But he will not worry about that now.

He picks Claire up and continues the ride toward the palace. When he arrives, he stows Grace in the stable and wanders to the smithy. Bobby is already hard at work, and Dean stands nearby with an attractive blue-eyed brunette. He wonders if Dean has ever had sex with her but then quickly squashes the thought.

“Mornin’, Jimmy,” Dean greets him. He gestures toward the woman. “This here’s Bela. She’s gonna watch Claire for you.”

Castiel smiles at her, but she doesn’t alter her cold expression. “Thank you,” he says.

“Bobby can show you where the nursery is once your shift’s up,” Dean says.

“All right.” Bela holds out her arms, and Castiel passes Claire to her. He feels a momentary spasm of loss at handing Claire off to someone else, but that’s ridiculous. Claire is not his daughter, and eventually he will have to give her back to her real parents. Bela’s icy demeanor doesn’t exactly reassure him, though.

Something of his concern must have registered on his face, for Dean says, “Don’t worry. Bela’ll take good care of her.”

“Thank you.”

As Dean and Bela retreat, Castiel thinks he hears Bela ask, “Why’re you catering to a blacksmith?” By the time Dean replies, the pair are too far away for Castiel to hear his answer.

Bobby assigns Castiel several elementary tasks, and as he works, Castiel reflects on things he has noticed in the village. Everyone carries themselves with a skittish air, barely perceptible but definitely present. In one part of town, the buildings are dilapidated, and families live in their rotting hulks, crowded together in small spaces. In his land, something would be done about it, but it seems as if those poor individuals are ignored. So when he and Bobby break for lunch, he asks about it.

“There seem to be a great many unfortunate citizens in the village,” Castiel says.

“Unfortunate, how?” Bobby responds as he bites off a hunk of bread.

“The poverty rate is inordinately high, is it not?”

“These are bad times for the economy,” Bobby explains. “What with the disappointing past crop season—”

“Something should be done about it.”

“Like what?”

“I am not familiar enough with this realm to make useful suggestions. Perhaps the king—”

“The king thinks things should be left alone. He says people can pull themselves up by their own bootstraps.”

“That is a ludicrous policy,” Castiel argues. “Good rulers should assist their subjects when they fall on hard times. It is their duty. Pulling themselves up by their bootstraps, as it were, doesn’t always work. And—”

“Shut up,” Bobby hisses, and Castiel abruptly ceases speaking. “Are you insane, boy?”

“What do you mean?”

“You can’t go ’round sayin’ things like that! You lookin’ to get locked up for treason?”

Castiel blinks. “Talking is treason?”

“Talkin’ like that is.” Bobby shakes his head. “You’re not from these parts, are ya?”

“No.”

“Here’s somethin’ you should know. Be careful what you say. You never know who’s listenin’.”

“But we are alone,” Castiel points out.

Bobby shrugs. “Maybe, maybe not. It’s best to be careful, just in case.” Castiel acknowledges Bobby’s words with a nod, and Bobby stands up. “Now. We should get back to work.”

King John’s reign is oppressive, then. He discourages any hint of dissent or disagreement. No, this land is certainly not like Castiel’s own.

xxxxxxxxxx

When Castiel arrives at the smithy every morning, Bela is there waiting for him. He hands over Claire and picks her up from the nursery when his shift ends.

But four days later, Dean rather than Bela meets Castiel at the forge. “Hey, Jimmy,” he says. Bobby pauses in his work to watch the other two.

“Good morning, Lord Winchester,” Castiel replies. He surveys the area, wondering if Bela is late. “Where is Bela?”

Dean rubs the back of his neck self-consciously, his eyes shifting a little. “Um. Bela woke up sick this morning.” He holds out his hands. “So I thought I could take Claire today. Y’know, so you don’t have to miss a day’s pay.”

“You wish to care for Claire today?” Castiel asks skeptically.

Dean flushes. “No, not exactly. Just, um, till I find someone else who can look after her. I just haven’t had time to plumb the staff yet.”

Castiel deliberates the situation for a minute before answering. “Okay.”

Dean’s tense stance relaxes. “Okay?”

“Yes. Okay.” Castiel smiles inwardly at their oh-so-eloquent conversation then passes Claire to Dean. “Be careful with her,” he warns, paternal instinct kicking in. He has no idea where it comes from since he is not a father. “Support her head.”

“I got it,” Dean huffs as he cradles Claire. He smiles down at her uncertainly. “We’ll be fine, right?” He glances up at Castiel. “I mean, she’ll be fine.”

Dean tenders his goodbyes, and Castiel begins the day’s work. Bobby keeps giving him strange looks when he seems to think Castiel won’t notice, and Castiel is puzzled. Has he done something wrong?

When they break for their midday lunch, Castiel broaches the topic. “Why do you keep looking at me?” He realizes how awkward the question sounds once it leaves its mouth.

Bobby snorts. “Whaddaya think?” Castiel grimaces at the sight of the morsels in Bobby’s mouth. “Just makin’ sure you’re doin’ things right.”

Castiel frowns. No, that doesn’t seem like the truth. It had been more than supervision. “No, I don’t think so.”

Bobby snorts. “It’s just that—” He stops mid-sentence.

Castiel narrows his eyes at him. “It’s just that what?”

“Forget it,” Bobby sighs.

“No. Tell me.”

“Anyone ever tell ya you stare too much?” Castiel continues to gaze at him. “Dammit, boy, it’s creepy!” Castiel doesn’t know what Bobby is referring to, so he ignores the remark. Bobby eyes the area around them before he resumes speaking. “Look. I just don’t want you gettin’ in trouble, okay?”

Perplexed, Castiel wrinkles his forehead. “Why would I get in trouble?”

“Just watch your back, son. Especially around him.”

Who? “Dean Winchester?” he hazards.

“Yeah. You seem like a nice boy, and I don’t want to see you gettin’ hurt.”

“Okay,” Castiel answers even though he does not understand Bobby’s words.

As he completes the rest of the day’s tasks, Castiel mulls over Bobby’s cryptic warning. Why had Bobby felt the need to voice it? How could Dean hurt him? They would never be more than mere acquaintances, if that. Castiel suspects their personalities are too different. He prefers solitude, silence, and reading, while Dean . . . well, perhaps he doesn’t know much about Dean, but he does seem to be a raucous sort, a lover of socializing. Someone with a healthy appetite for sex. Probably a heavy drinker. Rough and outdoorsy.

But Dean is also kind, and he has been gentle with Claire . . .

Dean has never shown more than a professional interest in Castiel, however. How can Bobby foresee any danger?

At the end of the day, Castiel helps Bobby clean up. He is about to walk toward the castle to pick up Claire when he spots a figure approaching him. As it comes closer, Castiel discerns that it’s Dean with the baby.

“Uh. Hi,” Dean greets Castiel. He proffers Claire to Castiel. “I brought her back for you.”

“I could have picked her up from the nursery,” Castiel responds as he gathers Claire into his arms.

Dean shrugs. “Just thought I’d save you the trouble.”

Castiel has a sneaking suspicion. “You didn’t take care of her all day, did you?” Surely Dean had more important matters to attend to, and Castiel does not want to be responsible for distracting him from his duties.

“’Course not!” Dean scoffs. “I told you, I found a maid to look after her.”

“Oh. All right.” Castiel still has his doubts, but he doesn’t pursue the subject any further. After saying good-bye to Dean and Bobby, Castiel heads toward the stables, saddles up Grace, and rides toward the cabin.

Once he reaches the cabin, he prepares a bottle of milk for Claire, and she downs its contents. She yawns, and Castiel smiles at her. “I think someone is getting sleepy,” he murmurs. He hums a lullaby, lulling her to sleep in his arms. He gently lays her on the far side of the bed and perches on the end of it, ruminating over his options.

The day he met Dean, why had he told such a preposterous lie? Why does he continue to perpetuate it? He should not let this go on. He’s never been hesitant to condemn deceitfulness in others, but now he’s the one behaving deceitfully. Not only that, but his parents and Anna must be worried about him. He has been missing for almost three weeks now. And Claire’s real parents . . . they must be missing her, too.

He needs to track down Claire’s family and return her to them. Claire’s safety comes first. After that, he can reveal his identity and suffer the consequences of his charade.

But where can he begin?

Suddenly, he remembers meeting the sheriff in town, her saying she would tell Rufus if she hears any news about a missing person. He hasn’t seen Rufus since he moved out of the inn. He will visit it on his day off, he decides, and ask Rufus if he has heard anything from Jody Mills.

Castiel kicks off his boots and grabs the bottom of his tunic, preparing to lift it over his head then lie down and watch over Claire. A knock startles him, and he drops the fabric. Who can that be? He doesn’t know anyone who would want to visit him. He flings the door open to find none other than Dean Winchester, the setting sun burnishing his hair with gold.

“Good evening, Lord Winchester,” Castiel says, his tone guarded. “What can I do for you?”

Dean steps over the threshold without waiting for an invitation, and Castiel supposes that, as a member of the ruling family, he has the right to do so. Castiel notes the stuffed bear Dean brought with him. Curious.

“Call me Dean. Please.”

Strange request. Most members of the aristocracy prefer to be addressed formally. Then again, Castiel recalls, Bobby calls Dean by his first name.

“Dean,” Castiel says, tasting how the syllable feels on his tongue, passing through his lips. An unfamiliar tingle courses through him, one he doesn’t understand.

“Yeah. That’s good.” Something in Dean’s eyes unsettles Castiel. An intensity, that too-bright earnestness he’d first perceived in the man—

Castiel hears it again, the sound of Dean fucking a woman. Loud and clear on just the other side of the wall. He flushes at the memory. Dean raises his eyebrows with a question, but Castiel ignores him, schooling his expression into neutrality.

“Kinda bare here, isn’t it?” Dean comments as he flops onto one of the chairs, wincing at how far down the cushion sinks. “I can’t believe you live like this.”

Castiel takes the other chair. “It fulfills my needs.”

“You should move into the palace,” Dean suggests. “Bobby lives there. So do a lotta the other staff.”

“I prefer my humble abode,” Castiel demurs. No doubt quarters in the castle would be more comfortable, but they would afford Castiel less freedom. Gossip travels fast on a lord’s estate, and his every move would be observed. Besides, if King John Winchester is as restrictive as Bobby and Rufus claim, Castiel does not want to live in his palace.

Dean shrugs. “Suit yourself.” Castiel’s eyes rove to the object in Dean’s hand, and he feels Dean closely watching him. “Oh. This.” Dean holds up the bear. “I thought Claire might like it.”

“You brought Claire a gift?” Castiel marvels.

Now Dean is the one who blushes. “Uh. Yeah. She was all over this thing earlier.” Castiel examines Dean’s features, and Dean fidgets under his gaze. “Don’t you know it’s creepy to stare?”

It is the second time today that someone has mentioned him staring in a creepy manner. He’s not really creepy, is he? People have always told him he is awkward; perhaps this alleged creepiness is related to it.

“I apologize,” Castiel says. “So. You did care for Claire all day, did you not?”

“No, I told you—”

“That is a lie.”

“Fine,” Dean snaps. “So what if I did? We had a good time, dammit.”

Castiel smiles. Dean enjoying a whole day with Claire . . . there’s something adorable about it. “Thank you, Dean. That was kind of you.”

“Hey, it beats all those boring council meetings.” He looks at the bear. “His name is Zeppelin.”

“Zeppelin?” Castiel repeats, tone disbelieving. Zeppelins are fantastical airships found only in fairy tales.

“Yeah. Zeppelins are freakin’ awesome. All my favorite stories had ’em.”

“Zeppelin is _your_ toy?”

“Was, yeah.”

Tears start to Castiel’s eyes. That Dean would offer his own childhood toy to Claire . . . “I cannot accept this, Dean.”

“It’s not for you. It’s for Claire.”

“But it’s _yours._ ”

“Hey, I’m not usin’ it anymore, right?” He stands up and stretches his arm out toward Castiel. “Take it.”

Dean hands Castiel the gift, and their fingertips brush. He swears he feels a slight charge with the contact, but he tells himself that is ridiculous. If Dean heard him say such things, he would laugh, and rightfully so.

Dean follows Castiel to the bed, and Castiel places Zeppelin beside Claire. Claire rolls over and grabs the bear tightly in her sleep.

Dean’s grin highlights his freckles. “Told ya she loves him. They’ll be happy together.”

Why does Dean sound as if he is mourning something? Is it innocence lost? His mother?

xxxxxxxxxx

Castiel ventures to town on Saturday, one of his free days. He stables Grace at the inn and stops there for his midday meal, feeding Claire from her bottle while shoveling soup into his own mouth.

When he has a free moment, Rufus slides into the booth across from Castiel. “Good to see ya, Jimmy. How’re things over on Winchester land?”

Castiel shrugs. “All right, I suppose.”

“No sign of Queen Mary’s ghost, huh?”

“No ghosts,” Castiel affirms. He wonders if Rufus truly believes in the ghost’s existence. The innkeeper seems like a practical man, not the sort who’d hold to such fanciful notions. Of course, Castiel himself doesn’t believe in that sort of nonsense. He knows that people mistake unknown phenomena for the presence of spirits, using the idea to explain what they do not understand.

“You said you were a blacksmith?” Castiel nods. “So that would make Bobby Singer your boss.”

“Yes. Do you know him?”

“I do. We used to be good friends. Haven’t talked in ages, though.”

“What happened?” Castiel grimaces at his question. Perhaps he should not pry into what is undoubtedly personal business.

“We grew apart, I guess, especially after he moved onto the Winchester estate. I didn’t think it was a good idea.”

Castiel does not ask Rufus to elaborate. The disagreement probably involved unpleasantries, perhaps even ones regarding King John. And if criticism of John Winchester is dubbed a crime . . . well, who could blame Rufus for not sharing details?

Instead, Castiel changes the subject, hoping to glean a lead about Claire. “Have you heard any news lately?”

Rufus gives him a blank look. “News? What kind of news?”

Castiel attempts a reassuring smile. “Oh, nothing. I merely harbor idle curiosity because the town is still new to me.”

Rufus eyes him as if he has just said something awkward. Has he? By the bar, a few boisterous patrons bang their tankards against the counter and demand more ale. Rufus stands up. “Gotta go. See ya around, Jimmy.”

“Good-bye.”

Once he and Claire finish their meal, Castiel departs the establishment, papoose hanging loosely over his chest as he carries Claire in his arms. He wanders around the village, contemplating what he should do next. He cannot keep Claire forever; eventually, his charade will come crashing down on him. He needs to find Claire’s family before that happens. Otherwise, she might end up as one of the countless orphans living in the hovels on the destitute side of town.

Castiel jolts into sudden awareness and discovers that he _is_ currently on that destitute side of town. He feels a pang at the abject misery surrounding him. He’s preparing to turn around when he hears a shriek.

Near a fishmonger’s stall, four men restrain a boy who cannot be more than fifteen. They take turns pummeling him, his face and arms erupting into a patchwork of bruises as he sobs.

“Hey!” Castiel shouts. No one pays him any mind, and the rest of the passersby ignore the scene as if it signifies nothing. He strides toward the men and tries yelling at them again.

One of them releases the boy and glares at Castiel. “What?” he hisses. Castiel opens his mouth only to find it dry. “Well?”

“Leave him alone,” Castiel warns.

“Or what?”

“Or I shall summon the constables.”

The man throws his head back and laughs. “Go ahead. The boy’s a thief.” He aims another punch at the boy’s cheek, and the boy collapses to the ground. The men kneel beside him and continue their assault.

With his free hand, Castiel tugs at the man who’d spoken to him. He snarls at Castiel before slamming a fist into his nose. One of the other men comes over and kicks Castiel in the shin. Castiel falls to the ground, and Claire rolls out of his grasp, landing a few feet away. “Claire,” Castiel squeaks before a boot stomps on his lips. Claire wails.

“Someone shut that thing up,” one of the men beating the boy gripes. The boy seems to have fallen unconscious. The other man by the boy drifts toward Claire and slaps her. Blood burbles from her mouth, and she cries harder.

“No!” Castiel screeches. How can they be so cruel?

“Shut up!” one of the men next to Castiel hollers. He kicks at Castiel’s ribs, and Castiel can feel bruises forming on his skin. Another man grabs Castiel’s nose and twists it until Castiel yelps in pain. It must be broken. Blood pours from his lips. He thinks someone slashes at his cheek with a knife, but by that time, he’s grown too woozy to ascertain what is reality. The world seems to be spinning around him, contracting and expanding. Someone clasps handcuffs around his wrists and carries him into a building, tossing him onto a cot before he blacks out.

xxxxxxxxxx

He wakes up to steel bars staring him in the face.

A jail cell. He glances at the other cells nearby, but he appears to be the only one in here. A constable sits at a desk, scribbling on a piece of paper.

“Where are the others?” Castiel rasps.

The constable addresses him disdainfully. “What others?”

“Those men!” Castiel fumes. “They beat a boy senseless!”

The constable shrugs. “Sounded like justice to me. They caught him stealing.”

“That does not give them the right—”

“ _You_ are the one who broke the law, sir. You interfered with lawful punishment.”

 _Lawful punishment?!_ They call maiming a boy _lawful punishment?!_

Castiel draws his legs up onto the cot and rests his chin on his knees, sullenly leaning against the wall. “Where is Claire?” he asks.

“Who’s Claire?”

Oh, God. What if Claire is lying in the street all alone? What if someone has hurt her? What if those despicable men . . . what if she’s dead?

Tears form in his eyes. No, please no. She’s just a baby. She may not be his, but he loves her, he realizes. He would do anything to protect her. To hold her again. Juxtaposed with his fear for Claire, his body’s aches and pains are insignificant.

He circles his arms around his knees and tilts his head back against the wall. He tries to calm himself by taking deep, steady breaths, but that doesn’t help. He chews his bottom lip and winces at the sting. He closes his eyes and attempts to block out everything around him. After a while, he hears someone enter the building, but he doesn’t open his eyes.

“How much?” the newcomer asks. Why does that voice sound familiar?

“What do you want with _him_?” the constable spits.

“None of your damn business. Now. How much?”

“No charge if it’s you,” the lawman grumbles. Two sets of footsteps proceed toward the cell. The constable unlocks it, and the door swings open. Still, Castiel doesn’t open his eyes.

“Jimmy?” a voice ventures uncertainly after someone walks away. Castiel allows his eyes to drift open. It’s Dean. What is he doing here?

Dean traipses into the cell and stops inches away from Castiel. He runs a calloused yet gentle index finger over the cut on Castiel’s cheek. “Oh, God, Jimmy. What happened?”

Castiel resists the temptation to lean into the touch. It is a stupid urge. Dean desires only casual hookups, and Castiel has zero interest in such a thing. The thought saddens Castiel, but then he remembers why he came here in the first place. Dean is _not_ the right person for him. This . . . concern, or whatever it is, Dean is displaying means nothing. It’s what anyone would do for an acquaintance, or maybe he’s just worried about Castiel’s productivity at the smithy.

Castiel scoots a few inches away from Dean, who frowns. “I interfered with ‘lawful punishment,’” he drawls.

Dean holds out a hand. “C’mon. I wanna hear more about this.”

Castiel lets Dean help him up. “I need to find Claire,” he says.

“You lost her?” Dean replies incredulously.

“She . . . we got separated when they arrested me.”

“Oh. Maybe they took her to the orphanage. Let’s go see.”

Castiel follows Dean through the village. During their walk, Dean poses questions, but Castiel gives monosyllabic answers, too worried about Claire to engage with Dean. Eventually, Dean falls silent. They cross into the slums, where they find the orphanage, a run-down wooden structure. Inside, Dean approaches the haggard proprietress and asks whether someone has brought in a baby today. Behind her, in the main room, Castiel notices barely supervised children of all ages, running around in raggedy clothing, many of them much too thin. Shouldn’t more resources be allocated to this place? These children need better care . . . and love.

Castiel’s heart constricts at that, the idea that these children are condemned to a miserable life without even the consolation of love.

The proprietress nods at the area behind her. “You mean that squabbling infant?”

“Let me see her?” Dean says.

She leaves them and returns a moment later with a baby who is crying hysterically. “She hasn’t shut up all day,” the woman grumbles.

“Claire!” Castiel exclaims as he snatches the infant from the woman. He holds her tightly, as if he is afraid she will disappear at any moment. Her sobs gradually subside, and she hides her face in Castiel’s neck.

“Thanks,” Dean says, his tone conciliatory. Castiel realizes he has been staring at the woman in what might be considered a rude manner. But he’s not sorry. She had not expressed even an ounce of sympathy for Claire.

Outside, Dean inquires, “You wanna join me for dinner?”

“Do you not have other plans?” Castiel responds, feeling uncertain.

“Nah, nothing important.” Castiel raises his eyebrows at this answer, and Dean shrugs. “It’s nothing. Really.”

“All right,” Castiel replies dubiously.

Dean leads them to a restaurant called the Roadhouse, which he claims is one of his favorite hangouts and “tame enough for Claire.”

A woman named Ellen shows them to a booth and makes small talk with Dean. Soon, their meal arrives: pot roast, potatoes, and ale, plus milk for Claire. Castiel digs her bottle out of his pouch, fills it up with milk, and feeds her. During these proceedings, Dean squints at Claire. “What?” Castiel prompts him.

“What happened to her lip?”

Castiel glances down at Claire’s busted lip. “Courtesy of the men doling out ‘lawful punishment,” he pronounces with a hint of sarcasm.

“Bastards,” Dean seethes. “So tell me about this ‘lawful punishment,’ as you call it.”

“Those are the constable’s words, not mine.” Castiel takes a moment to gather his thoughts before he continues. “I tried to stop some men who were beating a boy. They told me he was a thief, but I didn’t think that was a good enough reason for what they were doing, so . . . ” Castiel’s voice trails off.

“Fuckin’ Zachariah,” Dean spits.

“Who is Zachariah?”

“The damn mayor. Jody’s the sheriff, and she’s a good woman, but Zachariah’s always interferin’ with her job. She’s been tryin’ to reform the way the law is enforced around here, but Zachariah overrides her every damn time. Doesn’t help that Dad’s on Zachariah’s side.” Dean’s bitterness when he mentions his father takes Castiel aback. Yes, John Winchester might be a controlling ruler, but with his own sons . . . then again, King John did disinherit Dean. Perhaps that explains the resentment.

“How did you find me?” Castiel asks. Dean’s appearance at the jail had been odd. And all too convenient.

“Jody told me someone had been unfairly locked up.” He gives Castiel an indecipherable look. “Didn’t know it’d be you.”

Ellen drops by and asks, "How’s everything, boys?”

“Good as always,” Dean replies. Ellen turns to Castiel, who nods in agreement.

By the time they finish their meal, the sun is setting. Castiel tells Dean that he needs to head home, and Dean accompanies him on his walk to the inn’s stables. There, to Castiel’s surprise, Dean saddles up his own horse. He had supposed that Dean would be staying longer in town, engaging in sex with some girl at the inn. “Are you leaving, too?” Castiel asks.

A curious flush creeps up Dean’s neck. “Thought I’d keep you company on your way home. If that’s okay?”

Castiel is baffled. Why would Dean wish to come with him? “Of course. Do you have no further business in town?”

“Nothin’ that really matters.”

“Okay.”

They ride in companionable silence, Claire slumbering in the papoose. Once they arrive at the cabin, Castiel ties Grace to a tree, and Dean does the same with Impala.

“You need a barn,” Dean points out. “What if it rains?”

“I shall let Grace come inside.”

Dean snorts. “Yeah, great idea. ’Cause you have so much space in there and all.”

“Precisely,” Castiel deadpans. Dean stares at him as if he is an imbecile, clearly unaware that Castiel had understood he was joking. Knowing he must have been awkward in his delivery, Castiel’s spirits sink. “Would you like to come inside?” he offers, hoping to distract Dean from his idiocy. Besides, extending such an invitation is polite.

“Sure.” Dean and Castiel step over the threshold, and Claire stirs. When she begins to whine, Castiel feeds her, and she quiets down. He rocks Claire in his arms as he sings a lullaby. He sits on the edge of the bed and lays Claire down, not missing a beat in the song. Castiel cannot pinpoint the moment when Dean begins singing along. With Dean standing directly behind him, Castiel feels a faint emanation of body heat. Claire’s eyes flutter closed, and Castiel smiles at her before turning to face Dean. “You can sing,” Castiel observes.

Dean lowers his eyes as if embarrassed. “Uh. Yeah.”

Dean sits in one of the chairs, and Castiel remains on the bed so he can keep a close eye on Claire. They converse for a long time about so many things that Castiel cannot recall most of what they say. One exchange, though, sticks out in his mind long afterward.

“Sometimes I envy you, Jimmy,” Dean confesses.

“Me?” Castiel marvels. “Why?” _You wouldn’t envy me if you knew the truth_ , he thinks. _You would hate me. I would lose the only friend I ever had._

Is it true? Is Dean really his friend? No, he cannot be, not when their relationship is based on false pretenses. But he is the closest thing Castiel has ever had to a friend. Well, there is Anna, but as his sister, she doesn’t really count.

“You get to do whatever you want.”

What is Dean talking about? “No, I don’t.”

Dean shakes his head. “Ugh. Never mind. I wished I worked in the smithy, though.”

“You what?”

“I went there all the time when I was younger. Bobby showed me the ropes. It was like nothin’ else, the feel of the tools in my hands, the process of creating something so methodically . . . ” Dean rubs a hand over his eyes. “Shit, I don’t know why I’m tellin’ ya this.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Castiel assures him. “But I do not understand. Why can you no longer work in the smithy?”

“Dad says it ain’t proper for someone of my station,” Dean bites out. “He wasn’t happy when he found out what Bobby was teachin’ me.”

Castiel remembers Bobby’s warning. Had King John punished Bobby when he discovered Bobby had been teaching Dean his trade? Had he grown close to Dean only to get hurt?

What had Castiel walked into? His stupid charade had entangled him more deeply into the hidden, dark aspects of King John’s behavior than he could have ever conceived.

But to think, he might have married into that situation.

“It’s late,” Castiel notes. “I believe it is time we sleep. You may want to go home.”

“Sick of me already, Jimmy?”

The words rush out of Castiel. “No, Dean, it’s just that I’m tired—”

“Calm down, Jimmy. I was just jokin’.” Castiel’s shoulders sag in relief. “You mind if I stay here? I can sleep in the chair.”

“Of course not.”

Castiel snuggles into the bed beside Claire. Dean snores when he nods off, and Castiel feels a strange sensation, something oddly like happiness. Here he is with his daughter and Dean, his improvised family.

Except that everything is a lie. Claire is not his daughter. He is not a humble blacksmith named Jimmy Novak. Though for some reason Dean has decided to spend the night with Castiel, this is not the real him. He is a rough man who enjoys sleeping around, brawling, and drinking, not spending time with awkward freaks like Castiel.

It’s a lie, but he can pretend it isn’t, at least for a little while.

xxxxxxxxxx 

Castiel’s eyes fly open. Someone is whimpering. At first he thinks it’s Claire, but her sleep is peaceful. His eyes dart to Dean, and sure enough, the sound is dripping from his lips.

Castiel slips out of bed and strides toward Dean, placing a hand on Dean’s shoulder as he contemplates what he should do.

“Mom,” Dean whines. “Mommy, please—”

Castiel jostles Dean’s shoulder and hisses, “Dean!” Dean thrashes in his sleep, and Castiel shakes his shoulder harder. Dean rolls to the side and slaps Castiel on the wounded cheek. Castiel claps a hand to it and winces.

Dean’s fully awake now. “Oh, shit, Jimmy!” he exclaims. “Sorry. Didn’t know it was you.”

Castiel massages the area. “It’s all right,” he says softly, pointedly eyeing Claire. Face illuminated by the moonlight, Castiel raises his eyebrows and nods toward the door. Dean stands up, and Castiel takes that as assent. Once outside, Castiel says, “I apologize. I thought it best to wake you. You were having a nightmare.”

Dean sinks down on the porch, and Castiel sits beside him. “Yeah. How did you know?”

“I . . . heard things.”

“Like what?”

Castiel answers reluctantly. “You were begging your mother for something.”

“Oh.” He looks at Castiel sharply. “You’ve probably heard about what happened to her.” Castiel nods. “Then you’ve heard she was crazy.”

“Yes.”

Dean scowls at Castiel. “Well. She wasn’t.” He laughs mirthlessly. “But you probably don’t believe me.”

“I might,” Castiel says quietly. He wants to hear Dean’s side of the story, but he must coax Dean into sharing it.

“Hell, you might think _I’m_ crazy.”

“No. I would never.” Raucous and unpredictable, yes, but not crazy.

Dean exhales. “Well. We’ll see about that.

“The woman who set herself on fire wasn’t my mother.”

“ _What?_ ”

“I didn’t know it at the time, but when I remember it now, it’s like there was something else controlling her body. Just . . . little things. The way she moved, even her voice. It was her yet _not her_. And I swear, for one second her eyes were solid black. I used to think it was a hallucination, but . . . I just don’t know.” He bites his bottom lip and studies Castiel nervously. “Told ya you’d think I was crazy,” he mumbles.

“No, not at all.” Yes, the story does sound crazy, but something in Castiel instinctively believes him.

Dean wrings his hands. “God, I can’t believe I told you all that,” he mutters. His eyes scan Castiel as if searching for answers. “I’ve never told anyone that.” He licks his lips, and Castiel’s eyes are drawn to the motion. “Please don’t tell anyone?”

“Your words are safe with me,” Castiel vows.

xxxxxxxxxx

During the first half of the week, Castiel sees nothing of Dean at all. That does not faze him in the least. Perhaps they had shared a moment that night in the cabin, but Dean had been in the strange space halfway between sleep and wakefulness, with the nightmare and memory of his mother still sharply in focus. Dean probably regrets every word he said about it. For him, Castiel must represent a moment of weakness, perhaps even humiliation.

Plus, there’s also the fact that Dean believes Castiel is an ordinary blacksmith. What kind of noble wants to spend time with a commoner? Well, Castiel himself might, but his peers have always thought of him as odd. Dean has already spent more time with Castiel than is strictly proper. For that he is lucky; otherwise, Castiel might still be lingering in jail.

Why should he care if he does not see Dean, anyway? Surely the brief endearing glimpses Castiel has gotten of the man do not provide an accurate portrait of him, not with the reputation he possesses. Reputations may sometimes be exaggerated, but at their core is the seed of truth.

But in the middle of the week, while Castiel is hanging his apron beside Bobby’s, Dean approaches him. “Hey, Jimmy,” he says.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel answers as he turns around. His lips automatically form a smile.

Bobby’s eyes rove between Dean and Castiel as if attempting to ascertain something. He assumes a guarded expression and says, “See ya tomorrow, boy. Take care, Dean.” He leaves them alone.

“What are you doing here?” Castiel asks, tone more clipped than he had intended.

A wounded look passes over Dean’s features. “Thought I’d come with you to the nursery. Y’know, keep you company.” Dean scuffs at the dirt with the tip of his boot. He is dressed as plainly as he was the day Castiel first met him.

“Oh. That is kind. Thank you.”

As they shuffle toward the castle, Dean says, “So, about the other night . . . ”

“There is no need to discuss it if you would rather not,” Castiel assures him.

“Oh. Uh. Yeah.” Dean scratches at his forehead and groans, “Jeez, I’m so dumb. I’m just tryin’ to say thank you. For listenin’ to me and all.”

“You are very welcome.”

Dean stops, and Castiel almost bumps into him. Dean whirls around and examines him, and Castiel gazes back just as intently. Dean shakes his head and grins. “You’re somethin’ else, you know that?” Castiel blinks, bewildered. Dean grabs Castiel’s hand, and the grip is solid, something like safety. Castiel glances down at their joined hands, and Dean quickly withdraws his own. “Um. Sorry. I don’t know what got into me.” Dean reddens, and the freckles dotting his skin stand out against the color, accentuating his beauty. Castiel mentally shakes himself. Of course Dean is attractive; how else could he become a notorious sexpot?

“It’s all right,” Castiel says softly.

Dean skims a finger over the cut on Castiel’s cheekbone. “This seems to be healing nicely.”

“Yes.”

Dean steps back and assesses Castiel, his broken nose, the swollen lip, the bruise on his cheek, the black eye. “What’d Bobby say when he saw you on Monday?”

He fussed like a mother hen and berated Castiel for getting himself into trouble, but Bobby would not appreciate Castiel telling others about his concern. “He gave me a lecture about the value of self-preservation.”

Dean snorts. “I bet he did,” he mutters. “Probably coddled you like a parent, too.” Dean sounds wistful, and he puts a strange emphasis on the word “parent.” Castiel tries to puzzle out Dean’s meaning, but Dean resumes the walk toward the palace and urges, “C’mon.”

When they reach the castle, they meander toward the nursery. They are almost there when Dean suddenly stiffens. Castiel stills, confused. Then he notices a bearded brown-haired man standing merely a foot before them. This man, regally clad in a red ermine coat, stares coldly back at them. Castiel shivers involuntarily.

“Hey, Dad,” Dean says, voice uncharacteristically subdued.

“Good evening, Dean,” King John replies. Contemptuous brown eyes strip Castiel down as if investigating a particularly irritating piece of vermin. Castiel is conscious of his dirty appearance, the specks of dirt peppering his hair and his clothes, not to mention the state of his face. “This that blacksmith I hear you’ve been hangin’ around with?”

“Yeah,” Dean exhales. He gestures at Castiel. “Bobby’s new assistant. Jimmy Novak.”

Castiel kneels, as societal convention dictates, and lowers his eyes. “It is an honor to meet you, Your Highness.”

At this point, it is customary for the ruler to ask the other party to rise, but King John does no such thing. Instead, he sneers down at Castiel and hisses something to Dean about finding friends more appropriate for his station.

“Ugh,” Dean mutters once King John is out of sight. “Sorry ’bout him.” Castiel doesn’t respond, remaining in his position since no one has given him permission to stand. Dean gawks at him and huffs, “Jeez, you can get up already.”

Castiel stands up and explains, “I was merely following protocol.”

Dean snorts. “Who gives a shit about protocol? C’mon, let’s go get Claire.”

In the nursery, Bela directs them to a corner where Claire sits squalling. “What’s the matter with her?” Dean inquires.

Bela shrugs. “Hell if I know. She’s a spoiled brat.”

Castiel scoops Claire into his arms and scowls at Bela. “I would appreciate it if you did not curse in front of my daughter.” Castiel rocks Claire in his arms, and she calms down, burying her face in Castiel’s neck.

Bela rolls her eyes. “Fine. Whatever.”

“Thank you.”

“Could you possibly find someone else to look after Claire?” Castiel asks Dean once they are far enough away from the nursery for Bela not to overhear.

“Dunno. She seemed to be the only one willing. I could always take Claire.” He frowns.

“No, Dean. You have too many responsibilities.” Castiel chides himself for his request. He is lucky Dean is even providing him with daytime care for Claire. He must sound like an ingrate.

Dean sighs. “Yeah, but I’d rather take care of Claire instead.”

“Still, it would not do to shirk them,” Castiel points out.

“I guess you're right,” Dean grudgingly acknowledges. They continue the walk to the barn in silence. After Castiel has mounted Grace and settled Claire in the papoose, Dean calls, “See ya later, Jimmy."

“Good-bye, Dean.”

 xxxxxxxxxx 

It occurs to Castiel that Claire might truly be an orphan. He had found her abandoned by a stream. If she had parents, why would they leave her there? Something must have happened to them. And if not, if her parents had intentionally left her in the forest, then she is better off without them. Because it means . . . they had meant for her to die.

Castiel quails at the notion. Who could do that to a baby, especially one as sweet as Claire? Not that Claire is perfect; she has her moments of crankiness, and she can throw quite a tantrum. But for some reason, she seems to have taken to Castiel. He knows how to soothe her, and she clings to him as if he really is her father.

But he cannot continue this life forever. It was supposed to be temporary, until he found Claire’s parents. But if she has no parents, then she would end up in one of the village’s orphanages, and he cannot allow that to happen.

His family must now be wondering about his absence. He had left a note about his destination, but since he has assumed the identity of “Jimmy Novak,” no one knows he has arrived. For all intents and purposes, they will think he has gone missing.

No, this cannot continue, but he’s afraid of telling the truth. For one, Dean will hate him, though that should not matter to him as much as it does. But more importantly, no one will allow him to keep Claire, and Claire needs him.

He contemplates his dilemma as he works, and at the end of the day, Bobby asks, “What’s up with you, son?”

“What?” Castiel replies.

“You’ve been so quiet.”

“I am always quiet,” Castiel points out.

“Yeah, but you just seem . . . agitated, or somethin’.”

“I am fine, Bobby.”

“Well, if you ever need someone to talk to, I’m here,” Bobby offers. His voice is gruffer than usual, as if he has to make up for kindness with toughness.

“Thank you.”

Bobby says he has an engagement with Ellen in town, so Castiel cleans up their space alone. When he is finished, he spins around and gasps when he finds a tall, gangly boy gaping at him.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you,” the boy says.

“It is perfectly all right,” Castiel assures him.

“I’m Sam,” the boy explains.

Castiel cocks an eyebrow. “Sam Winchester?”

“Yes.” Castiel knows that Sam Winchester is fourteen, seven years younger than Dean and himself.

“Well. What can I do for you, Lord Winchester?”

Sam frowns in puzzlement. “No. I’m Sam.”

“Okay, Sam. What can I do for you?”

Sam shrugs. “Nothin’ really. I just wanted to see you.”

“What?”

“Dean talks about you a lot. I was wonderin’ why.”

“He does?” The notion stuns Castiel. Why would Dean wish to discuss Castiel with Sam?

“Yeah.” Sam gives a serious nod. “I approve.”

Castiel chuckles. “You do not even know me.”

“But you’re decent. I can tell.”

No, Castiel is not decent, not with the web of lies he continues to propagate. But he says nothing of that and smiles instead. “Thank you.”

“I’ve got fencing lessons now. Maybe I’ll see you later.”

“Okay, Sam. Good-bye.”

Castiel cannot prevent a silly smile from adorning his lips as he traipses to the castle. On his way to the nursery, he spots Dean, who has a woman hanging on one shoulder and a man clinging to the other. They laugh boisterously. Obviously, all three individuals are drunk.

Castiel waves at Dean, but Dean pretends not to notice. He whispers something to his companions, and they all look at Castiel and laugh. Castiel’s heart sinks, and tears start to his eyes as the threesome lurches down the hallway.

Even through his disappointment, Castiel registers a change in Dean’s demeanor, perhaps something related to his newly blackened eye.

Underneath Dean’s mirth had lain desperation.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

A few days later, Dean approaches the smithy during Bobby and Castiel’s lunch break. After a short conversation with Bobby, Dean grabs Castiel by the elbow and drags him several feet to the side. “So, Jimmy. How’re you?”

“All right,” Castiel replies coldly. Dean’s black eye has turned yellow, but it still stands out against his skin.

Dean looks stunned. “What’s your problem, man?”

“What is _your_ problem?” Castiel retorts, rage and hurt and stress finally bubbling to the surface. He had thought Dean enjoyed his company, but apparently that had been a stupid idea. No one enjoys spending time with the awkward Castiel Milton. To Dean, Castiel is no more than a plaything, a means for entertainment. His behavior toward Castiel the other day had made everything clear, and Castiel will not be toyed with.

“Huh?”

“Don’t act so fucking clueless,” Castiel snaps. “You know what you did.”

Dean looks confused. “No. What did I do?”

“Ugh, you’re so goddamn infuriating!” Castiel yells. “Of course you would not remember, because it means nothing to you. The way you ignored me the other day.” Castiel bristles at the memory. “The way you and your companions _ridiculed_ me.”

“Oh, don’t get so sore, Jimmy. We were just havin’ a little fun.”

“I do not call that _fun_.”

Dean steps forward and cups Castiel’s chin with one hand, fingers brushing his stubble. Castiel swallows, overwhelmed. Intoxicated as his eyes bore into Dean’s, that bewitching mixture of green and hazel. “Yeah. That’s what I thought,” Dean hums. “You need to have some fun, Jimmy.” Castiel’s breath hitches as Dean massages his jaw. “That’s it,” Dean leers. “Why don’t you join us tonight? Ever had a foursome?”

Castiel swats Dean’s hand away, fury flaring up anew. “I am _not_ your pawn,” he growls.

“What?” Dean responds, disbelief tinging his voice.

“I am not yours to do with as you wish.”

“Oh, yeah? Fuck you!” Dean shouts. Castiel winces at his vicious tone. “How dare you talk to me like that?! You’re just a damn blacksmith.” Dean spits on the ground at Castiel’s feet and turns on his heel.

Castiel releases a shaky breath. Dean is right about one thing. Castiel should not have spoken to him as he had. As his employer, Dean has control over him.

Castiel stalks back toward the smithy, and Bobby eyes him. “Told you to be careful, son,” he mutters. Castiel glares at Bobby, barely able to contain his ire. Bobby doesn’t say a word to him for the rest of the day.

Any hope he’d still held that Dean views him as a friend evaporates. He is nothing to Dean but a diverting pastime. His heart aches more than it should.

xxxxxxxxxx

When Castiel arrives at the stable that evening, Dean is lounging against the wall outside. Castiel ignores him and continues toward the doorway, but Dean leaps in front of it, blocking his entrance.

“Will you please move?” Castiel huffs.

“No. We need to talk,” Dean answers.

“What do you want?” Castiel sighs. He hugs Claire closer to his chest, and she begins to cry, almost as if she senses something is wrong. “Shh,” he whispers to her. “It’s all right.” He looks up at Dean and says, voice steely, “Would you like to fire me? Very well. You will never see me here again.”

Dean grips Castiel’s upper arm and exclaims, “No, dammit!” It spooks Claire, and she wails more loudly. Castiel glowers at Dean, who glances down at Claire and mumbles, “Sorry.”

Castiel shrugs off Dean’s hand. “Do not touch me.” He tries to circumnavigate Dean, but Dean counters his every move.

“Stop it,” Dean pleads, voice low. “I came here to say I’m sorry. I was an asshole to you earlier.”

“Yes. You were.”

Castiel shrinks inwardly, afraid Dean will once again accuse him of acting above his station. Instead, Dean grins and declares, “That’s what I like about you, Jimmy. No bullshit.” Castiel blushes even though he is unsure if Dean’s praise is genuine. “Hey. How ’bout I ride home with you? We can hang out. Just you, me, and Claire.”

Castiel covers Claire’s ears and says, “Did you not have recreational sex planned for tonight?”

Dean laughs. “I can do that some other time. I would love to spend tonight with you guys, if that’s okay?”

Despite his misgivings, Castiel assents. He still mistrusts Dean, but Dean is attempting to make amends. No doubt he has an agenda and harbors no real attachment to Castiel, but Castiel is curious about how Dean will behave tonight.

At home (strange that he has come to think of this cabin as his home), Castiel assembles a simple dinner of bread, cheese, and ale and fills Claire’s bottle with the last of the milk. Dean treats the meal as if Castiel has presented him with a gourmet assembly. After supper, they play games with Claire until she starts yawning. Castiel picks her up, and her eyes droop. By the time he settles her onto the bed, she has fallen into a slumber. Castiel covers her with a worn-out woolen blanket and smiles down at her.

“She’s the light of your life, huh?” Dean comments softly from his perch on one of the chairs.

Startled, Castiel spins around. “What?” Like Dean, he speaks quietly, so as not to wake Claire.

“It’s obvious how much you love her.”

“It is?” Yes, he loves Claire, but he had never thought others could tell.

“Don’t sweat it, dude. It’s what good dads do.” His voice contains a shade of resentment. Castiel sinks into the empty chair and ponders Dean’s words. What would Dean think if he knew the truth? If he knew Claire is not Castiel’s biological daughter, but rather some stray he picked up on his journey?

If he knew Castiel’s true identity?

“What happened to her mom?” Dean asks.

“Hmm?” Castiel hedges.

“Your wife.” He waves a hand in Claire’s direction. “Girlfriend. Whatever.”

“Um. She left me.”

“Pity.” Dean scratches his temple, drawing Castiel’s gaze to his jaundiced eye.

“What happened to your eye?” Castiel inquires.

“Got a black eye. Duh.”

Castiel rolls his eyes. “No, I mean. Who did that to you?” He resists the urge to reach forward and caress Dean’s cheek.

Dean shrugs. “Got in a fight.” Castiel knows a lie when he hears one. He would wager money that King John was involved. It hurts, the idea that a father could treat his son so. Castiel’s dad has always been gentle and loving, whereas King John . . . Castiel cannot glean much about him based on one interaction, but his relationship with Dean is most definitely distant.

Castiel wants to bring up these things, but Dean would shut him out, he thinks.

Instead, he queries, “Why do you do it?”

Dean scrunches his forehead, lines accented by the moonlight drifting in through the windows. “Do what?”

He casts a furtive glance at Claire and whispers, “Have so much recreational sex.”

Dean chuckles, covering his mouth to keep from waking up Claire. “Feels good, man,” he wheezes. “You should try it.”

“No, thanks.” Castiel has never had sex, but he cannot reveal that to Dean, especially when Dean believes he has a daughter. To Castiel, sex has always held a distinct allure, sacrosanct as the epitome of intimacy. He cannot comprehend how Dean could trivialize it so.

“You should lighten up, Jimmy.” He smirks. “Relax. Lose yourself in someone else’s skin.” He regards Castiel with lust-tinged eyes. He tugs Castiel forward by the wrist until Castiel staggers onto his lap, their lips inches apart. Dean’s fingertips skim Castiel’s bottom lip, and he jumps away.

“No. Not with Claire here,” he hisses. Why is _that_ his explanation? He should have just said he does not enjoy casual sex.

“We could go outside,” Dean suggests.

“No.”

“C’mon, it’s not like anyone else’s around.”

“ _No_.”

“Fine.” They sit in awkward silence, minutes ticking by slowly, until Dean mentions, “We got some interesting news about the Miltons this afternoon.”

Castiel tenses. “ _The_ Miltons? King Inias and Queen Rachel and—”

“Yeah, them.”

“What was it?” Castiel squeaks. Dean gives him a curious look.

“Seems their second-born has gone missing,” Dean elaborates. “Castiel.”

“Oh.” It takes a great deal of strength for Castiel to retain his composure.

“I was betrothed to him, y’know.” Dean barks a mirthless laugh. _Yes, I know all too well._ “D’you know what he’s like?”

Castiel’s mouth is dry. “No.”

“I hear he’s so fuckin’ awkward. Probably annoying as all hell. I hope he’s okay, but—” Dean shrugs. “—I also hope this means I don’t have to marry him.”

That stings. “You do not like people who are awkward,” Castiel states matter-of-factly.

“No.”

“ _I’m_ awkward,” Castiel points out.

“But you’re different.”

Castiel narrows his eyes at Dean. “How so?”

“Dunno, really. It’s just—this sounds stupid, but.” He grins. “It’s kind of endearing on you.”

“Hmph.” Would it be endearing if Dean knew who he is?

“C’mon, don’t get mad, Jimmy,” Dean grumbles.

It’s on the tip of his tongue. _I’m not Jimmy. I’m Castiel_.

But he’s not brave enough to say those words. So, he announces, “I’m going to bed.” Still fully-clothed, he plops onto the bed beside Claire. “You should go home,” he tells Dean.

“Nah. D’you know how late it is?”

“Fine. Sleep in the chair,” Castiel murmurs through the haze clouding his brain. Words flit around in his mind, like butterflies in a jar, as he drifts off.

_“I also hope this means I don’t have to marry him.”_

_I didn’t want to marry you, either._

_I mean, I don’t. I don’t want to marry you, either._

_“It’s kind of endearing on you.”_

_“Lose yourself in someone else’s skin.”_

_Lose yourself._

_Lose yourself._

_Why does Dean need to lose himself?_

_Lose yourself._

_Lose myself._

_Lose. Myself._

_I am lost._

xxxxxxxxxx 

When Castiel wakes up, Dean is gone. The sun burns his eyes. Today is Saturday, so he has nowhere to go. By some miracle, Claire is still peacefully asleep. He flops back onto the bed and closes his eyes, but the light still burns.

xxxxxxxxxxx

Toward evening, Castiel is surprised by a loud rap on the door. “Hey, Jimmy,” someone yells.

Who else but Dean?

Castiel throws open the door and slurs, “What do you want?”

“Such a charmer, Jimmy.”

Castiel crosses his arms over his chest and stares at Dean. “Well?”

“I, uh. Thought we could go down to the inn together.”

“I have to watch Claire.”

“I talked to Bela about it. She said she’s cool with babysitting Claire tonight.”

“Are you sure?” Castiel asks skeptically.

“Yeah.”

“All right,” Castiel concedes.

“We’ll drop her off on the way there.”

The inn is crowded when they arrive. Of course it would be crowded on a Saturday night. Uncomfortable with having so many people nearby, Castiel attempts to back out of the door, but a familiar voice catches him. “Hey, Jimmy!”

Castiel turns to the speaker. “Hello, Rufus.”

“You guys know each other?” Dean interjects.

“I lived here for one night. Until I found the cabin.”

“Ah.”

Castiel remembers that night, the boisterous sounds of Dean’s lovemaking next door, and blushes. No one seems to notice, thankfully. He and Dean sit down at the bar, and Rufus passes them two drinks. The three of them make small talk for a while, but Dean’s attention eventually drifts. Castiel tracks Dean’s gaze to a cute blonde young woman chatting with a friend.

“You take the brunette,” Dean says to Castiel. “I’ll have the blonde.”

“Dean, no—” Castiel objects. But Dean has already begun sauntering toward the women.

Rufus gives Castiel a sympathetic look. “You can’t expect Dean Winchester to come here without hooking up with someone.” He pauses then adds, “So, what’re you gonna do now?”

Castiel doesn’t answer Rufus. Instead, he tromps toward Dean and his newfound companions. Dean gestures at him. “Oh, hey,” Dean utters. “This’s my friend Jimmy.”

“Friend.” His heart swells at the declaration more than it should.

Castiel assumes a seat beside the brunette, who licks her lips and bats her eyelashes at him. She is certainly attractive, but Castiel has zero interest in pursuing casual sex with her. On the other side of the table, Dean is already making out with the blonde. Castiel contemplates bolting.

Voices waft in their direction. “Wild card, that Dean Winchester.” “Did you hear about his tirade against Mayor Adler?” “Crazy, he is.” “No wonder, he must take after his mom. Mad Mary.”

Dean pries his lips off of the woman, who looks irked. He hops to his feet and stalks toward the men who had been gossiping about him. All conversation ceases. “What did you say?” Dean asks them, voice low and dangerous. Why does that send a thrill through Castiel’s body?

“I said you’re crazy, boy. Like Mad Mary.”

“You have the gall to talk to _me_ like that?”

The man and his friends sneer. “You’re nothin’, Dean Winchester. Daddy took it all away. Probably because you’re just like her.” He raises his voice with the taunt. “Mad Mary!”

“You son of a bitch—” Dean seethes as he aims a punch at the man’s nose. One of the man’s associates punches Dean in return, and the fight becomes four against one. The main instigator throws Dean onto the ground, and then they are kicking his side, his ribs, and Castiel whimpers.

“No, please stop,” Castiel whispers to himself. But the men only become more vicious, and blood pours out of Dean’s nose, his mouth, and—

“Get off him, you bastards!” Castiel screeches as he rushes toward the scene. He grabs two men by the shoulders and hurls them across the room. The other man crumples when he kicks him in a most sensitive area. Now only the head of the gang remains standing. He crushes Dean’s cheek under his boot-heel and grins at Castiel. Castiel wraps his hands around the man’s throat and shoves him against the wall. His head bangs against the surface with a crack, and Castiel squeezes the man’s neck tighter and tighter. And tighter, until the man makes a sickening choking sound.

A hand grasps Castiel’s ankle, and he looks down to see who it is. Dean. He pants, “Jimmy. Let go. You’re gonna kill him.”

Castiel releases his grip on the man, who gasps for air. Bruises adorn his neck, bruises shaped by Castiel’s fingers. He gapes at the man, stunned. He had taken on four men on his own. He had almost killed this man. He’d never known he was capable of such things, that he could be an even match for any man. Castiel stares at the man, who cringes, eyeing Castiel as if he is an alien creature.

“You two,” Rufus orders. “Outta my establishment.”

Dean staggers to his feet. “Yes, sir.” He encircles a gentle hand around Castiel’s wrist. “C’mon.”

In the stable, Castiel helps Dean onto his horse before mounting Grace. “Are you sure you can ride?” Castiel questions.

“I’ll be fine,” Dean mumbles. His face is still bloody, so Castiel retrieves a rag from his saddlebag and uses it to clean off Dean’s face. When he is finished, Dean laces their fingers together and says, serious, “Thanks.”

“You are welcome,” Castiel replies.

They ride to the castle, Castiel sticking close to Dean in case he should need assistance. Once inside the palace, Castiel says, “I am going to get Claire.”

Dean clasps Castiel’s shoulder. “Stay.” Castiel stares at Dean, attempting to read the intent behind the request. “It’s late. Claire’s probably sound asleep by now.” True. But Dean might have an ulterior motive. Dean smiles grimly. “No foolin’ around. Promise.”

“All right.”

Dean shows Castiel to his room, which is large yet sparsely decorated. A king-size bed is located on the far side. Dean strips down to his smallclothes and crawls into bed. Castiel stands by uncertainly. Dean pats the bed beside him and says, “Plenty of room for the both of us.” Castiel studies Dean, wondering if this is a trick. “Jeez, Jimmy, I said there’d be no foolin’ around.”

Castiel sheds his doublet and boots but keeps on everything else. He lies down on his back, closes his eyes, and falls into a dreamless sleep.

xxxxxxxxxx

Something is draped across Castiel’s waist. He jerks awake to find Dean’s arm flung there, body snuggled up against his. He removes Dean’s arm and rubs his eyes. Sunlight streams through the curtains. He should retrieve Claire and return to the cabin.

“Mmm. Mornin’,” Dean murmurs.

Castiel freezes with his legs hanging over the side of the bed. “Good morning, Dean.”

Dean cracks open an eye. “Where ya goin’?”

“Home. With Claire.”

Dean stretches, the motion sinuous. Castiel cannot help but notice the taut muscles on Dean’s chest and the pretty freckles sprinkled across the expanse of flesh. “D’ya have to go now?”

“I really should.” Today may be a free day, but he should not shirk responsibility forever. Claire might cry if she wakes up and he is not with her. He pulls on his boots and doublet and heads toward the nursery, Dean close behind.

But the nursery is empty.

“What the fuck?” Dean mumbles. “Where’s Bela?”

In the crib, Castiel finds a note. He skims the contents and gasps, “He knows who I am.” Dean gives him a funny look, and Castiel realizes he said that aloud.

“What are you talkin’ about?” Dean demands.

Now there’s no taking it back. “Whoever wrote this. They know who I am.” Castiel’s voice is barely audible when he unmasks himself. “I’m not Jimmy. I’m Castiel.”

“Huh?”

“I’m Castiel,” he repeats, speaking not much louder than he had before.

Dean gawks at him. “Wait a minute. You’re—Castiel? Castiel _Milton_?”

“Yes,” Castiel admits, eyeing the ground.

Fury contorts Dean’s features. “What kind of sick fuckin’ game are you playin’?”

“I am not playing a game,” Castiel whispers.

“Then what the hell was all this?” Dean waves a hand around the room. “What was the damn point? Where’d you get a frickin’ baby?”

Castiel glances down at the note. “They’ve taken Claire,” he sniffs, tears cascading down his cheeks.

“What do you care? She’s not yours. Her name’s probably not even Claire,” Dean rages.

“Help me. Please,” Castiel pleads.

“Why would I help a piece of shit like you?” Dean spits. Castiel recoils at the venom in his voice. He stalks toward the doorway, pausing at the threshold. “You’re much worse than I could’ve ever imagined.”

Then he’s gone.

“Dean,” Castiel moans. Only now, with the void in his heart, does he realize how fond he has grown of Dean.

The note trembles in his hands. He reads it again:

_Meet me tonight at Lawrence Cave. 8 p.m. sharp. Or I will reveal your secret, Castiel Milton. Oh, yes. I know who you are. If you ever want to see this pathetic child again, you will meet me there. Or she dies, and I will ruin you._

Lawrence Cave is on the outskirts of the Winchester estate. Castiel will be there. Not for himself, but for Claire. If the situation should ultimately require him to die for Claire, then he will do so.

xxxxxxxxxx 

At 7:59, Castiel hovers at the entrance to the cave. He’s spent all day worrying about Claire, counting down the seconds until 8:00. Should he venture inside or wait here?

He elects to wander into the cave.

“Hello?” he calls. He holds a lantern up, but he sees nothing but empty space.

Something whacks him on the head, then darkness.

xxxxxxxxxx 

His vision is blurry when he comes to. He thinks he recognizes the figure seated a few feet away, legs stretched out, but that cannot be right. The man is too plainly dressed.

But that voice is unmistakable.

“Hello, Castiel.”

Castiel squints in the dim light emanating from the lantern. “Your Highness?”

“Yes.” King John chortles. “I would address you as Lord Milton, but you do not deserve that title, do you? Not when you’ve been masquerading as a blacksmith. No proper noble would ever do that.”

Claire starts wailing, and King John glares at her. “Shut up!” he shouts, striking her cheek.

“No, don’t hurt her,” Castiel begs. He attempts to move and discovers his limbs have been chained to the wall.

“Oh, I’ll do as I please. I’m the goddamn king.” King John studies the manacles fastened around Castiel’s wrists and ankles. “My ancestors used this cave as a dungeon. They had their methods of making people talk.” The king sighs. “Practices which have regrettably fallen out of fashion.”

Castiel can see more clearly now, and he spots a body inside the cave with them. Bela, throat slit, glazed eyes staring up at the ceiling.

“Ah, yes,” King John continues. “Who could resist an assignation with the king?” Castiel might not have liked Bela, but she did not deserve this. Claire cries louder, and King John stuffs a rag into her mouth. “There. That should shut her up.”

“What do you want?” Castiel bites out. “Why are you doing this?”

King John consults his pocket watch. “Our Dean-o should be here any minute now.”

“What?”

“To rescue you, of course,” King John deadpans.

“What are you talking about?”

The king tsks. “God, are you really that thick? The idiot’s in love with you.”

Castiel’s blood runs cold. “No, he’s not.”

“Yes, he is. I think I know my own son. And when he comes for his little doe-eyed blacksmith--.” John slices a finger across his throat.

“What? Why would you do that?”

“Because. He’s a liability. Too soft-hearted, like his mother. I can’t have him ruining Sam, now can I? He’s already got too much influence over the boy.”

Castiel ponders the king’s words for a few minutes. John Winchester is a monster. Why had he concocted such an elaborate scheme? “Well,” Castiel says at last, mouth twisting into a bitter smile. “He won’t come.” That is a small comfort at least. “He hates me. He knows I’m not, as you put it, ‘his little doe-eyed blacksmith.’”

“Oh, he’ll come all right. Like I said, he’s soft.”

Sure enough, they soon hear Dean yell, “Jimmy? Castiel, whatever. You in here?”

John Winchester leaps to his feet, agile as a leopard, and before Castiel can digest what has happened, Dean is chained to the wall opposite him.

“What the hell?” Dean groans. “Dad?”

“Hey there, Dean-o,” King John replies.

“What’s this? What’re you doing?” Dean asks, fearful.

“What I should have done a long time ago, boy.” John Winchester paces the length of the cave, long legs striding purposefully. He abruptly stops at a spot halfway between Dean and Castiel and points a finger at his son. “You. Are going to kill. Him. And her.” He points at Castiel then Claire in turn. “Then yourself. Oh, and you killed her, too.” He points at Bela.

“No, I didn’t,” Dean remarks.

King John rolls his eyes. “Jeez, you’re just as dumb as this one.” He indicates Castiel.

“Why would I do that?”

“Because I will make you.”

“What? How?”

“Just as I made your mother kill herself. Shoulda killed you, too, but some asshole interfered. ”

“What? You? You did that?”

King John laughs, the sound disturbing as it echoes around the cave. “Yes. Me.”

“Daddy, why?” Dean’s voice breaks, and it slays Castiel’s heart.

“Because.” John Winchester resumes his pacing. “You are both weak. And not only are you a sensitive little bitch.” He ceases his steps once again. “You’re also a whore.” He pauses as if for dramatic effect. “Do you know how much that compromises the bloodline?” He gestures at Claire with the toe of his boot. “How much of a threat this little shit is to the family?”

“What?”

“She’s yours, Dean-o. ’Course, I killed her slut of a mother. What was her name? Libby? Lizzy?”

“Lydia,” Dean says softly, tears welling up in his eyes.

“But who slaughters a baby, right? She was supposed to die of exposure in the woods. But then this pathetic betrothed of yours—” He scowls at Castiel. “—had to go and save her.” He turns back to Dean. “So now _you_ will slaughter her.”

Castiel’s head reels. Claire is Dean’s daughter? King John had left her to die because she is a bastard child? How could he _make_ Queen Mary kill herself? What is he planning now?

John Winchester recites an incantation in a language Castiel cannot identify. Dean gasps and falls to his knees, arms straining against the chains above. Black smoke shoves itself into Dean’s mouth, and Castiel knows he can do nothing to stop whatever this is. They will die, and so will Claire. People will conclude that Dean was as insane as his mother when the truth is that neither of them was ever insane.

John Winchester is the one who is insane.

A sudden burst of cold breezes past Castiel, and a woman’s voice proclaims, “You will _not_ hurt my son.”

“Mary?” King John marvels.

A ghostly pale woman lingers between the king and Dean. She is beautiful, Castiel observes.

Dean’s eyes are black now, just as he’d described Mary’s eyes as being when she’d set herself on fire. He struggles against the chains and snarls, poised to attack.

“Dean. My poor baby,” Mary sobs. She places two fingers on his forehead and makes a sweeping motion toward her husband. Dean’s eyes return to normal, and a black veil settles over the king’s eyes. He opens the lantern, dumps the contents over his head, and screams as he is engulfed in flames. Dean stares at the spectacle with wide, unblinking eyes. After a while, his eyes dart to Mary.

“Mommy?” Dean whispers.

“Yes, Dean,” she soothes, hugging him as best she can. “I love you.” She glances at Castiel and Claire. “Take care of them. And Sam.” Dean and Castiel’s manacles snap open, and Mary disappears.

“I love you, too, Mommy,” Dean exhales. Castiel grabs Claire, flings the rag out of her mouth, and dashes out of the cave, Dean on his heels. “I love him, too,” Dean tells Castiel in a subdued voice. “Dad.”

“Of course you do,” Castiel replies. “He is your father.”

Dean’s face crumples. “Why did he hate me so much?”

Castiel throws his free arm around Dean, and Dean buries his face in Castiel’s shoulder, tears soaking the fabric. “I don’t know,” Castiel answers as he runs a hand through Dean’s hair and up and down his spine. “I’m sorry, Dean. I’m sorry.”

xxxxxxxxxxx 

After Dean and Castiel finally drag themselves away from Lawrence Cave, their hearts heavy, they put Claire to sleep in the nursery before settling in the library. Dean lights a lantern, and Castiel can still make out the tear tracks on Dean’s cheeks. He wants to caress the skin there, show Dean how much he cares. When the backs of his fingers skim Dean’s cheeks, however, Dean shoves him across the room and yells, “Back off!”

Castiel’s back collides with one of the bookshelves, and he ignores the pain. “Dean—” he pleads.

“No,” Dean seethes, pointing a finger at him. “You do not get to say anything to me. Not after all the fuckin’ lies you told.”

Castiel’s eyes well up. “But, Dean—”

“I said, I don’t want to hear it!” Dean roars. “After tonight, you and I are done.”

“Don’t you care anything for me?” Castiel wails.

Dean crosses his arms over his chest and glares at Castiel. “How can I? I don’t even know the real you.”

“But you do,” Castiel insists, striding toward Dean. “I made a terrible mistake, and for that I am sorry, but who I am, my actions, my beliefs, my feelings—those were always real. _Always_.”

Dean backs away from Castiel. “How am I supposed to believe any of that? No. You’ll leave in the morning, and then I never want to see you again.”

“But you must care for me, at least a little,” Castiel whimpers. “Or else you wouldn’t have come to Lawrence Cave.”

“No, you idiot. I just couldn’t let you die is all.”

“So I mean nothing to you.”

“Nothing at all.”

Castiel begins hyperventilating and falls to the floor. All of it, the damage he can never repair, this man he’s learned to love—yes, love—despising him—it’s too much. He curls into himself and sobs as he struggles for breath.

“Cas!” Dean exclaims as he kneels beside Castiel on the carpet. Castiel dimly registers the nickname and feels a momentary swell of affection before he remembers that Dean hates him now.

Dean wraps his arms around Castiel. His lips move over the nape of Castiel’s neck before he buries his nose in Castiel’s hair. The panic squeezing Castiel slackens a little. “I’m sorry,” Dean mumbles into his hair. “I didn’t mean it.”

Castiel extricates himself from Dean’s grasp and stares at him. “No. You’re right,” he says, tone lifeless. “I will leave in the morning.”

“Cas!”

“I’m sorry, Dean, for what I’ve done.” Castiel stands up and gathers his courage. “But before I go, I want you to know something. I love you. Truly.”

Castiel heads toward the door, but Dean yanks him back when he places his hand on the knob. “You dumbass,” Dean hurls as he spins Castiel around to face him. There are new tears in his eyes. “I love you, too.”

Castiel gapes at him. “Even after—”

Dean takes a deep breath before he answers. “Yeah. I do.” He pauses before suggesting, “Why don’t we start over?”

“Okay.”

Dean presses a chaste kiss to Castiel’s lips. When he pulls back, his features are determined. “Now. I want to know what that bastard did to Mom.” Dean winces at his use of the word “bastard.” “And me. You think it’s in one of these books?”

Castiel paces the library and examines how the books have been arranged. He quickly recognizes the organizational pattern and stops beside a section of volumes about the occult. “I imagine it will be over here somewhere.”

Dean and Castiel flip through the books all night until they find the spell in a demonology text. It allows one to summon a demon and command it to do what one wishes. Once the demon is summoned, it would need to possess a body. A person’s eyes will turn black once he or she has been possessed by the demon.

“That’s some fucked up shit,” Dean concludes.

“Yes,” Castiel agrees.

Dean starts a blaze in the fireplace and decides, “I think we should burn this thing. What about you?”

Castiel smiles grimly. “Yes. Let’s burn it.”

xxxxxxxxxx

They do not tell anyone about the occurrence in Lawrence Cave because they do not think people will believe them. King John is presumed missing. Sam cannot rule in John’s stead since he is underage, so, in a closely contested vote, the council appoints Dean as regent. Dean immediately relaxes the laws against freedom of speech and enacts provisions to alleviate poverty in the village. A disgruntled Mayor Adler resigns.

Dean devotes himself to Castiel and engages in no more sexual escapades. Almost everyone in the kingdom is surprised by Dean’s competence as a ruler, as well as his compassion. No one dares tease him anymore about “Mad Mary,” and older folks remember the time of Queen Mary with fondness. They say Dean’s kindness reminds them of her. People begin to talk conspiracy theories. For years, many citizens have been suspicious of the official story regarding Mary’s death, and now they discuss their skepticism openly.

The first main event of the new era is Dean and Castiel’s wedding.

They decide to hold two ceremonies, one for the kingdom and an intimate one just for family and close friends. Only a few people are invited to the latter, a hodgepodge: King Inias, Queen Rachel, and Anna; Sam; Bobby Singer; Rufus Turner; Jody Mills; Ellen Harvelle and her daughter Jo. And Claire, upon whom both Dean and Castiel dote.

Finally, after they have been joined in holy matrimony, Dean and Castiel consummate their union.

“You’re lucky I waited until our wedding night to deflower you,” Dean murmurs as he sucks on Castiel’s shoulder. “Don’t say I’m not a fuckin’ gentleman.”

Castiel grins. “The most foul-mouthed gentleman I’ve ever met.”

“Yep. That’s me.” Dean pulls back and regards Castiel affectionately. “Remind me why we had to wait?”

Castiel pecks the corner of Dean’s eye. “Trust me. It’s more meaningful this way.”

“If you say so,” Dean grunts. He regards Castiel for a moment. “You’re strange, y’know that?”

“So you have said. Many times.”

“Heh.”

Their lips clash; tongues duel. Castiel mewls as Dean licks into the roof of his mouth. Dean slams his back against the mattress and straddles him. When he pries his mouth off of Castiel’s, Dean whispers, “I love you, Cas.”

“I love you, too, Dean,” Castiel breathes.

After the delicious torment of preparation, Castiel wraps his legs around Dean’s waist, and Dean inserts the tip of himself inside.

Not too long ago, Castiel believed he would hate this man. He would have done almost anything not to marry him.

Now, he cannot imagine a life better than this one, with his Dean and his Claire.

As Dean sinks into him, Castiel thinks, _This is heaven_.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed this fic. Feedback is very welcome! :)
> 
> You can find me on tumblr at [angelofthemoor.tumblr.com](http://angelofthemoor.tumblr.com/). If you wish to follow me, I'll follow you back!


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